


Silver and Blue

by fennecwrites



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Around when the gang goes to Alexandria, Crushes, Family, Fascination with pain, Glitter, God knows teenage me wouldve been happy to feel this free, Hmu if i need to up the rating or add more tags, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Intrusive Thoughts, It's a little bloody sometimes but you're reading a zombie fic what do you expect, M/M, Occasional Russian and Spanish, Physical and emotional trauma, Self-Harm, Serious Injuries, Sometimes apocalypses are liberating, Sometimes teenagers climb trees, The main character's thoughts get dark a bit, This takes place season 5-ish, Thoughts of death, Torture, Violence, mentions of cannibalism, some self-hate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2018-12-17 05:32:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11844963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fennecwrites/pseuds/fennecwrites
Summary: Really, the only reason Alex went with Aaron and Eric to their haven was because of the promise of food and a doctor. He didn't mean to get dragged into any of this.





	1. Chapter 1

He wished they doped him before they went quiet.

Maybe the silence wouldn't be so stifling. Maybe the time wouldn't drag on so long. Maybe the dripping wouldn't be so maddening.

_ Drip. Drip. Drip. _

It hadn't rained.

_ Drip. Drip. _

He didn't know what the dripping was. He didn't want to know. Maybe it was a leak in the floor upstairs. Maybe they were above him. Maybe it's bloodier up there than it is down there. 

_ Drip. Drip. Drip. _

_ Drip _ .

Maybe it was the plumbing. Maybe, somehow, they got the plumbing here to work. He never knew much about this stuff before he found himself in hell, and he won't have the opportunity to learn. 

_ Drip. Drip. _

“Drip,” he tried to whisper, but his voice was muffled by the gag and his throat was dry, so it came out as a grunt.

Maybe the dripping was the others still. The ones that didn't get out. The ones that were already dead or were too far gone to rescue.

_ Drip. _

He thought there would be more blood from them, so he didn't really think that was the case. Besides, their blood had to be dried by now. They didn't smell fresh. They were probably rotting by now. It didn't sound like their blood. 

_ Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. _

It couldn't have been anyone's blood. They died too long ago. Blood would be dry by now. The dripping isn't blood.

_ Drip. Drip. Drip. _

He wondered how far they've gone. He wondered if any of them regret leaving him behind. He doubts they do. They didn't seem like the type to dwell on what could have happened.

He wondered how long it would take for him to die. He wondered what the next scavengers would think happened when they stumble in here and find him a snarling corpse, dead by infection or dehydration, bound and gagged and bloody and small. He hopes they won't leave him. He hopes they'll shoot him.

_ Drip. _

It's like a horror movie, but a horror movie would have him gasping and struggling as a faceless man descends the stairs to the basement, shadowed cleaver in hand. A horror movie would play stressful, dissonant music to build the tension. 

This is real life, and there's no man coming down the stairs to kill or torture him. They're all already dead. Instead, he gets to wait for death to come to him too. He wished he’d come to him like he does whenever he’s in the movies. Death, cloaked, with a scythe. (Or maybe Death is a woman, like in other movies.) But instead, Death is much more ugly: he is starvation. Blood loss. Infection. Instead of a movie soundtrack, he gets the dripping. The persistent dripping. Like a metronome counting off the beats until he dies. The most stable thing he'll know. 

It bothered him at first. It still bothers him. But he's convinced himself that when the dripping stops, his heart will, too, because the dripping is much more steady and doesn’t randomly skip beats and make him feel winded and there is no way it can stop before his heart. 

The frightening thing is not knowing what the dripping is. If he knew, he could gauge how long he had left. But he doesn't know, and he can die in five minutes, or three years. 

Rationally, that's bullshit. But he's scared. He doesn't want to die. Not really. Not today. Not anymore. 

But he waited anyway, because there wasn't anything he could do, tied to this post and stripped to his underwear. There wasn't anything he could do. 

And then the dripping stopped, and he lived. 

And he was confused. He shouldn't be alive. The dripping stopped. He shouldn't be alive. But he was. For several more hours. 

Then he was certain he was wrong, and he  _ had  _ died, because the silence was broken by footsteps above him and there is  _ no way _ he's being rescued, so it  _ has  _ to be death. If they save him, then God or whoever is up there has probably forgiven him for the sins he's committed. If the strangers hurt him, then he's obviously in Hell. 

If they leave him…

What then? Is he stuck in Limbo? Or is he trapped on this decaying planet, forced to roam the streets searching for a way to move on? His metaphorical door to the other side? A bridge? Will he wander aimlessly for years, searching for a way to wrap up whatever finished business he has? Will his spirit forget who he is after a while until he's nothing but  _ energy _ ? Will he be benevolent, or will the pain stirring in him be all that matters in the end—the one thing that remains until he's a demon?

Or will he be trapped here? When he dies, will he be stuck to this corporeal form until that dies, too? Are the infected still in there, forced to watch as their body decays—as they tear apart the flesh of loved ones, imbibing on blood and guts?

Or will there just be nothing? He doesn't want to believe that. 

The footsteps continued upstairs. They might not even check the basement. They might open the door, see the blood, smell the rot, and assume there are biters. They might be afraid of dark basements. Hell, he was.  _ Still is.  _ But it doesn’t really matter. Him being dead and all.

His arms were still sore from being tied up. His legs still felt stiff. He knew he wasn’t dead. But damn, how  _ would  _ someone know if they just passed away?

And then the footsteps paused at the door, and he heard voices, and the door swung open, and he winced, because  _ fuck _ , the basement has been  _ dark _ , and it’s daytime now, apparently.

Through his squint, he watched two men cautiously peek in, waving flashlights around. “Oh god,” he heard one of them whisper. He saw the blood on the ground.

That was enough to make the boy trust them. Hearing the horror in the man’s voice told him that they’re  _ not _ bad, and even if they are, they probably won’t brutally murder him if they don’t like blood. He attempted to shift, grunting a bit, and was blinded once more by the flashlight. 

He didn’t get to see the men’s faces, but by the way they rushed over to him and  _ didn’t  _ train a gun on him, he assumed they were concerned.

One of them cut the old rag that was doubling as his gag and pulled it out of his mouth, watching him intently. The worry in his face was almost startling. “Are you okay?” He breathed, eyes darting around his face. He touched his face. The man’s hand was gently resting on the boy’s cheek, and he was searching his face with genuine concern and the boy’s heart  _ soared. _ He nodded a bit frantically, then coughed. The man pulled away slightly. “Are you bitten?”

The boy shook his head, then shuddered. The other man was working on untying him, and he was grateful to feel the ropes loosen, but his arms felt very weird when they began to move, like they weren’t supposed to bend the right way. They were so stiff and numb.

“Alex,” the boy stated, a bit loudly. He winced. “Sorry,” he croaked, and the man’s face pulled into even more concern. 

“Alex,” he repeated. “I’m Aaron. That’s Eric. Do you have a group?”

Alex shook his head again. “No,” he whispered, and the man— _ Aaron _ —heaved a sigh. The ropes were cut and his arms fell to his side, sore. 

“We-we’re going to get you out of here, Alex,” Eric told him, moving in front of him. He began to work at cutting the ropes on his ankles, but froze, his jaw clenching. Aaron followed his gaze to Alex’s thigh, and the two men had mirrored looks of horror. 

“What happened?” Aaron asked, tearing his eyes away from the bloodied bandage.

Alex swallowed. “People,” he whispered. The men were both silent, but Eric was still cutting at the rope. “Had a whole shed full of others, but they got out. I tried to escape too early. Locked me down here.” He coughed again, but it was more due to the nauseous stirring in his stomach than the persistent dry throat. “Not part of their group. Been a day or two.”

“We've got a doctor,” Aaron informed him, “in our community.”

“You can stay, if you want.” Eric smiled encouragingly at him, severing the last fiber of rope. “Get cleaned up. We got plumbing and power.”

Besides himself, Alex laughed. Not loudly, but a bit hysterically. The men watched him patiently, smiling with concern. “Think I  _ did  _ die.” Then his grin faded, and he stared at the two men in wonder. “Beds too?”

Aaron’s smile widened. “Beds too.”

Alex began to grin, then self-consciously pressed his lips together. He had no idea what his teeth looked like. Or if they were bloody. He didn’t think they were, but he was hit in the mouth, and his lip could’ve gotten cut.

“Can you guys- uh-” Alex attempted to shift his legs under his body but cringed. His arms were holding the post behind him, trying to use that as leverage to stand, but he didn’t get much further than lifting his butt off the ground. 

Both men rushed to each side of him and supported him by his elbows, easing him to a standing position very gently. He kept his weight on his left leg because he didn’t want to know how bad the wound would ache if he leaned more on his right leg, and together, the three men staggered to the staircase.

It took a while for Aaron and Eric to help him get to the top, but they did it. They brought him over to the couch and let him lay down. The two of them worked at cleaning and bandaging his leg, quietly murmuring about how the doctor at their camp will make sure it's well taken care of. Eric then gave him some water and a granola bar, and Aaron went upstairs to try to find some clothes for the boy. He told him about his backpack and Aaron promised to find that, too. Alex did his best to eat what was proffered, but he found that it was easier to drink the water than it was to eat solid food. “It’s okay,” Eric assured him, his hand brushing the hair on Alex’s forehead. Unintentionally, Alex closed his eyes, reminded of the way his sister used to do that when he was little. It felt  _ good. _

Suddenly he had a thought. Alex opened his eyes and sat up a bit. “You and Aaron together?”

Eric blinked, surprised, and Alex felt his cheeks heat up. No, he shouldn’t have asked that so suddenly.  _ No tact. _

Eric looked a bit tired and guarded, but smiled at him, because, Alex knows, he’s a  _ kid.  _ And maybe being found tied up in a basement gives someone more freedom to speak their mind. He nodded.

Alex began to talk because he was high off being rescued and these men are so  _ nice  _ and he felt bad about making Eric look guarded and he  _ understands  _ that. “That’s nice,” he muttered, sinking back down into the couch. He closed his eyes again and leaned his head back against Eric’s hand. He heard the man breathe out a short, relieved laugh and felt him continue his ministrations. Alex smiled. “You’re good people,” he told him. “Are people mean about it?” Eric didn’t answer immediately, and Alex felt his stomach plummet. His smile faded and he opened his eyes again. “Oh,” he muttered. “I’ll keep quiet.”

“They  _ know _ ,” Eric told him. “And they’re well meaning. They’re just not all…” Alex nodded because he understands. He really,  _ really  _ does. 

Aaron returned, Alex’s backpack on his shoulders and a small pile of clothes in his arms. There were jeans and a dark red T-shirt that looked  _ clean _ , and Alex grinned brightly upon seeing it. “I couldn’t find any clean underwear,” Aaron told him.  Alex really hadn’t  _ thought  _ about that. He suddenly felt very unsanitary and self-conscious. “There’re clothes in Alexandria, so once we get there…” He trailed off because Alex was already nodding ecstatically and reaching for the clothes. Aaron smiled fondly and handed them over, and Alex quickly put the shirt on then gingerly pulled on the jeans. 

The two men helped him stand again and supported him between them as they led him out to the car. 

“Not making you cut scavenging short, am I?” Alex asked, his tongue feeling a bit heavy. It still kind of hurt to bend his knee because it kind of stretched the skin on his thigh, so he sat sideways in the backseat, his right leg propped up on the seat. 

“Actually,” Aaron began, smiling at him through the rearview mirror. “We were looking for survivors.”

“You really think that’s necessary?”

Alex paled, his spine going rigid. Nervously, he turned to Nicholas. “Uh- w-what?”

“You were singin’.”

_ Is it a crime to sing?  _ “Uh…” Alex said, turning to look back at the road. He shifted his weight, still not sure what to say. He blinked. “Sorry.”

“It distracts me,” Nicholas told him by way of explanation. Alex nodded, feeling a little better about the whole thing but not by much. It’s not like there’s much for them to get distracted from, anyway. The road was silent, as it usually is, and Alex’s leg was starting to hurt from sitting up here for so long.

He wanted to make conversation just to ease the boredom, but he didn’t want to bother Nicholas. Besides, he doesn’t know what to say, and once he starts talking he’ll probably get uncomfortable really fast. 

He gripped his gun a little tighter.

They didn't want him working like this. Deanna practically begged him to just focus on going to school and chores instead, but he reminded her that he can do  _ both _ . It had taken a lot of work before he was able to convince anyone to trust him on this, and most of that was pointing out how much more acquainted he is with the outside world than they are as well as reminding Deanna that the only people he feels like he can trust here are currently away. He wasn't lying when he told her he just wanted to keep busy so he could be alone sometimes. It really, really, really did drive him insane, his saviors being away.

And it's quiet with Nicholas. It's quiet with a lot of the people here. They don't talk to him much. And then there are the ones that do talk to him—the other kids—and some of them are so nice he starts to feel alone because he can't possibly be as happy as them, and some of them are so mean he wishes they ignored him, too. He never realized he'd hate being around other teenagers so badly. 

But then there's Ron, who has been trying to get him to feel at home here. And Mikey, who makes him feel like he actually  _ really  _ does belong somewhere and isn't just liked for being an outsider. And Enid, who hasn't talked to him much, but she's been giving him less dirty looks. He likes her. She knows what it's like. 

Alex was considering going back to reading his book when he saw the vehicles  _ finally  _ approaching. Aaron and Eric were gone far too long for his liking. He probably should’ve been surprised to see so many vehicles returning, but they told him Deanna gave them the okay for larger groups, so it was only a matter of time before they returned with many companions. 

_ Be on your best behavior.  _ These people will be suspicious.  _ Don’t say anything dumb.  _ They’ll have every reason to be suspicious.  _ Don’t say anything. _

“Get the gate,” Nicholas told him. “I’ll be down ‘soon as I know they’re safe.”

Alex was glad he sent him ahead. It takes him a significantly longer time to get down the ladder with his leg weak like it is, and if Nicholas went down first, Alex would take so long getting down he’d be very vulnerable. 

He made it down (albeit slowly) and stood by the gate, staring up at Nick. He gave him a short nod and Alex unlatched it, opening it as hastily as he could. He was surprised to see Eric and Aaron just outside the gate and felt that familiar warmth bubble up in his chest before it was quashed with a nauseating concern. Eric was limping and Aaron was supporting his weight. Every possibility ran through Alex’s mind and, foolishly, he grew light headed at the thought that he might have to be the one to put him down. Eric means a lot to Alex, but he knows that if Aaron can’t do it, he will. If it has to be done, it has to be done, no matter how much he feels like throwing up just thinking about it.

“Are you okay?” He whispered frantically, his right hand in clutching at a belt loop on his jeans vigorously.  _ Of course he’s not. He’s dying, Shurik, and you’ll have to kill him, like the rest of your family.  _

“It’s nothing serious,” Eric reassured him, smiling carefully. “Just hurt my ankle.”

Slowly, Alex relaxed his hand and let it fall to his side. Of course. It’s nothing serious. He would have sighed in relief, but Nicholas was beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder to nudge him out of the way so he could finish opening the gate. Eric began to limp away, toward the infirmary, and Alex eased closer to Aaron. The gates opened to reveal a group much larger than he could have expected and he subconsciously eased his gun into a more accessible position on his left side. They are very,  _ very  _ heavily armed. Alex swallowed and tried to steel his nerves.

A clatter on the side of the road startled them and they all turned, weapons up. One of them shot his crossbow at the noise on instinct, making Alex almost jump in surprise. The man that shot walked over to where the crash was heard and bent down. He picked up a possum, his bolt stuck in the poor thing’s neck, and returned to the group. “We brought dinner,” he announced, to the delight of Alex.

He would’ve laughed—in fact, he  _ almost  _ did—but Nicholas saw the grin forming on his face and shot him a look. There was silence after that, and Aaron shared a look with the boy before turning to Nicholas. “It’s okay,” he promised quietly. Nicholas turned to him, looking dumbfounded and suspicious, but Aaron ignored him. Alex shifted closer to him again. “Come on in, guys,” Aaron beckoned them. Alex almost smiled again; Aaron is a good man. He nodded at them once more and turned, slowly making his way in. Alex and Nicholas followed suit, and the group slowly made their way in, their guns always at the ready. “The gate, Alex,” Nicholas commanded. Alex nodded briskly and began to step slowly toward the group. He had every intention to just skirt around them and get the gate, but they were all watching him with those wide, suspicious eyes he knew all too well, so he hesitated. Making brave eye contact with the bearded man with the baby, Alex nodded slowly and shrugged the gun off his shoulder, even though the thought of doing that around strangers devastated him mentally. He’d have to trust that Nicholas can handle it and that Aaron was right about these people. If anything, this might ease their suspicions. 

He handed the gun to Aaron and walked around them as evenly as he could so they wouldn’t see his gimp.  _ Careful, Shurik. They might be decent people, but that doesn’t make them any less dangerous. _ He felt their eyes on him as he clutched the gate and pulled it closed. He didn’t mind this part of the job; the gate gave him some support so it didn’t look like he was hurting. Once the gate was shut, he leaned against it and looked over to Aaron, who looked ready to talk.

Nicholas was the one to speak, though. “Before we take this any further, I need you all to hand over your weapons.” The group turned back around to face him, but he felt a few lingering eyes watching him still.  _ They’re smart, too.  _ “To stay,” Nicholas continued when they made no move, “you hand them over.”

Beard man stepped forward immediately. Somehow, even with a baby in his arms, he still managed to look intimidating. “We don’t know if we want to stay,” he challenged, eying Nicholas.

“It’s- it’s fine, Nicholas,” Aaron supplied.

Their leader wasn’t done talking, though. “If we were gonna use ‘em, we would’ve started already.”

Aaron continued. Alex wondered if he should step in, too, because he knows how stubborn Nicholas can be. “Let them talk to Deanna first.”

“Who’s Deanna?” A redheaded man near the back asked gruffly. He’s rather intimidating, too, Alex decided. In fact, they all are. The fact that there is a baby and a couple teenagers makes him feel better about them, but even so, the teenagers are damn intimidating, as well. He doesn’t want to look at anyone too much in case they get the wrong idea.

“She knows everything you’d want to know about this place,” Aaron, ever the peacemaker, informed them. He glanced quickly at Alex and swallowed almost imperceptibly, the tension of this situation wearing on even him. “Rick,” he addressed the man with the baby, “w-why don’t you start?”

Rick turned to look back at his companions. “Sasha,” he said. Alex almost startled until he realized he was talking to one of his own. The woman turned around and aimed her gun at a revenant that had been slowly making her— _ its _ , he reminded himself—way toward the gate. She shot it without a second thought, and Alex began closing the second gate with his jaw clenched, pretending that their show of dominance was  _ not  _ terrifying. “Good thing we’re here,” Rick muttered, beginning to walk forward, his group with him. Nicholas walked over to Alex, who was beginning to make his way back to the ladder, and shoulder checked him gently. “Go with them,” he muttered, wasting no time to check if he heard before beginning to climb back up. 

He obeyed, walking quickly past them, trying to catch up with Aaron. Luckily, Aaron had been going intentionally slowly, glancing back to see if he’d catch up. When he was by his side again, the man rested his hand on the teen’s shoulder in greeting. “You look tired. They’ve been working you hard?”

Alex couldn’t help the wide smile from spreading across his face. “Been working myself,” he admitted. “ _ They  _ want me to take more breaks.”

Aaron watched him as he spoke, and Alex felt like he was somehow giving away his secrets. He ducked his head and drummed his fingers on his left thigh. After a prolonged moment of hesitation, he looked back at the group. “This is Alex,” he introduced. The group all stared at him, and he kept his eyes on the ground. “We took him in over a month ago. He’s still… recovering.”

Alex smirked darkly. That’s the understatement of a century. He’ll be fine, though. He's always been a champ at faking it.

“Being out there,” Rick provided, searching Alex’s face. Alex lifted his eyes to meet his, feeling almost compelled to. “It’s not something you can recover from.” Aaron smiled knowingly. Alex tore his eyes away from Rick’s and let them meet the ground again. He nodded silently. He  _ wanted  _ to say something. He licked his lips, sucked in air, and looked up, but upon seeing everyone’s eyes on him, the air was let out with a sigh and he looked down again, clenching his jaw. Swallowing past that lump in his throat, he turned to face forward again, head a little slumped.

“Let’s get you to Deanna,” Aaron said. Alex felt his hand on his shoulder again. “Why don’t… Why don’t you get home, Alex?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah,” he croaked out. “Kay.”

He cut hard left and unintentionally bumped into one of theirs: an Asian man who was kind enough to place a hand on his back to catch him. “You okay?” Alex nodded quickly and walked away, not bothering to conceal his limp. The man he bumped into stared after him, something close to guilt on his face. 

_ They're disorienting. _

Alex didn’t look back until he was safely inside the house and sitting on the kitchen counter. He watched the group make their way to Deanna’s from the window, feeling like the nosy soccer mom that lived across the street from him back before she became a snarling monster.  _ Damn.  _ He really wished he didn’t see her like that. She wasn’t his favorite, but she didn’t deserve that. 

He stood up to take a shower, hoping that it’ll wash away some of his tension. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has been locked away in my computer for a few months, and I've got a few more chapters stored up right now. I meant to get a lot further into this one but the entire month of July was a creative dead zone for me, so I'm a little behind where I was hoping to be.  
> I don't have any WiFi for another week+ so I'm using my phone right now, so please tell me if there's any formatting errors or anything like that.  
> Thank you for taking the time to look at this, and I'll probably put up another chapter soon!


	2. Chapter 2

“You sure Ron’s coming?” Enid stared across the room at Mikey from the bed as if he was dumb for asking that. Which, admittedly, Alex couldn’t blame her for; after all, they  _ are  _ in Ron’s room. “I’m just saying, he should probably be here by now, right? He always is.”

When Enid didn’t respond, Mikey looked down at Alex, who was sitting on the floor against the wall. The boy shrugged, lowing his eyes. “Don’t know. ‘M not here everyday like you guys.”

Mikey’s face fell, but he recovered quickly. “He usually is,” he confirmed for himself. He sunk further into the seat. 

From the open door, the three teens heard two voices: one was Ron’s, and the other was unfamiliar. Alex glanced at Mikey to see his reaction just in case it was just someone he just hasn’t talked to yet, but Mikey looked excited. “It’s the new kid!” He hissed, a broad grin on his face. “Ron said he’d try to get his mom to let us meet him!”

Alex and Enid stayed silent. Alex’s eyes were glued to the doorway, nervous. Enid just looked back down at the book in her lap, uninterested.

Enid continued to look down even as her boyfriend tried to get everyone’s attention. “Guys,” he began, a bit nervously, “this is Carl. Carl, this is Mikey, Alex, and Enid.”

For all Mikey’s excitement, he did fairly well at concealing it. He stood up from his seat and took a few steps toward Carl, saying, “Hey!”

“Hey,” Alex echoed. He’d stand up, but he didn’t want to fumble around trying to do so, so he just gave him a friendly wave and a weak smile instead. Carl just stared at him. His smile wavered.

Enid took a moment to answer, and didn’t sound eager in the slightest. “Hi.”

She didn’t look up, and Carl was now watching her curiously, and Alex was able to get a good look at him. He's shorter than Ron and probably Mikey, but he's not short. His hair's also a bit too long, like Alex’s, and he looks awfully serious and kind of scary even in his awkward state, but it's not unattractive. Not by any means. Alex knows that he'll probably kill him if he moves too quickly, and he also knows that probably is what helps make him attractive.  _ I'm fucked up. _

Ron, seeing Carl looking at his girlfriend, stepped in to explain, “Enid’s from the outside, too. She just came a few months ago.”

And then it began: the awkward silence. It was like that when Alex met everyone, too. It still is like that a lot. Surprisingly, Carl broke it. “Oh, um. Is this yours?” He took something out of his back pocket. Alex couldn’t see what it was from where he was sitting.

Ron sighed. “Sorry,” he apologized, seeing Carl struggle to determine who it belonged to. “We didn’t know you guys got that house.”

“We mostly just hang out there and listen to music,” Mikey explained. Chewing on his lip, he added, “That’s Enid’s.” On cue, the girl leaned forward and snatched it out of Carl’s hands. She still didn’t look up.

Ron was still struggling to find a way to talk to him. “Wanna… play some video games?  _ Or, _ Mikey’s house has a pool table, but his dad’s… kinda strict about it, so-”

Mikey scoffed. “It’s okay,” he assured him. Looking a little smugly over at Ron, he added, “He’s at work.”

Alex was watching the newcomer. He looked completely at a loss, his eyes dropping. “Um…” Alex nearly cringed; this can’t be easy. This  _ isn’t  _ easy.

The silence dragged on far too long. “Sorry, I guess we come on kind of strong. Um- we could just hang out.”

“You don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to,” Mikey added.

“Yeah,” Ron said, “took Enid three weeks to say something.”

At the mention of her name, Alex looked over to her. She was watching the boy, now, too, but she looked back down. “Pull it together, sport,” she said, feigning disinterest. Alex  _ did  _ wince.

Mikey jumped in. “And we didn’t even know Alex’s name until a week after he got here.”

“He doesn’t talk much, either.”

He considered snapping back about how  _ they  _ talk enough for him  _ and  _ Enid, but then he thought better of it. Instead, he just gave a tight-lipped smile, his eyes still turned down to the floor. 

Then Alex realized that the new kid is still standing there, overwhelmed. “Let’s, um…” Sucking in a breath, he finished, “Let’s play some videogames,” and began to step into the room.

“Cool, yeah,” Ron agreed as calmly as he could. “Pick what you want. They're, uh, over there. By Alex.”

Alex scooted a bit away from the cabinet so Carl could get to it without being crowded. He was walking slowly and carefully, like he was afraid of startling anyone. It's good to keep on edge. Alex could respect that. “What do you call them?” Mikey suddenly asked, eyes alight. Carl paused halfway between crouching down to look at the games. He spun on his heel and sat on the ground not too far from Alex.

“What?” He asked.

“Everyone seems to call them different things,” Mikey went on, not really explaining. “Rotters, biters-”

“Walkers,” Carl provided.

Alex hummed thoughtfully. The new teen turned to him, as if he was surprised he has a voice. “I like that.” Carl continued to stare his way. He didn’t let himself get uncomfortable; he’s probably just trying to figure him out. 

“What do  _ you  _ call them?” Ron asked. He cocked his head a bit. “I… don’t think I ever heard you call them anything.”

Alex shrugged, bending his knee a bit. It still was hard to. It will still be hard to. At least they didn’t take his whole leg. At least they just filleted his thigh. Still, it’ll be a long time before his body can actually recover from losing that much muscle so suddenly. He slid one hand under his thigh so he could help pull it so it wasn’t stretched out in front of him. When he looked back up, he saw everyone’s eyes quickly look away to pretend like they weren’t watching him. “Me and my sister had a game where we’d come up with different names for them. Whatever I call them is usually just whatever comes to mind. But we’ve never called them walkers before. Is it a blanket term, or is it to describe the horde? Or the stragglers?”

“Uh,” Carl said. “Usually just… any of them.”

Alex nodded thoughtfully. “What kind of names did you guys come up with?” Mikey asked. 

Alex sucked his lower lip between his teeth, thinking. “Same as everyone else, probably. Rotters, biters, crawlers, strays, stragglers, uh…” He narrowed his eyes, thinking. “ _ The dead ones _ , obviously. Corpses. Bloaters.  _ Shamblers.  _ Depends on the type.” A slow grin spread across his face. Mikey and Ron watched in interest; they hadn’t seen a smile like that before. “Even call ‘em  _ revenants _ sometimes.”

“Sick,” Mikey breathed.

“Inaccurate, but yeah.  _ Sick. _ ” In some sense of the term, maybe. Alex bit his lip again. “There are a  _ lot. _ We tried to think up a new name every time we referred to them, so… I can’t really name  _ all  _ of them, you know? That’s pretty much all the English ones though.”

“That’s... morbid,” Ron noted. Alex shrugged and shifted, a bit uncomfortable.

“That’s  _ cool, _ ” Mikey added.

Enid finally had enough. “Does it matter what he calls them? They’ll kill you either way.” Alex had never been more thankful for Enid in his entire life. He shot her a grateful look to which she gave him a nearly imperceptible nod—which is a  _ huge  _ accomplishment, because it means she’s starting to accept him!—and stood up. “I’m leaving,” she stated. 

“I’ll walk you home,” Ron volunteered, standing up quickly to follow her.

Alex and Mikey watched as Carl watched her go. Mikey shared a wary glance with him, but Alex shook his head slightly. No need to crush his dreams  _ now. _

The three boys were silent for a while and Carl seemed to have forgotten that he was supposed to look for a video game. 

Carl broke the silence. “Is your sister here too?”

“No.” Mikey cringed, but Alex didn’t. “She didn’t die.” He pursed his lips. “I got separated about half a year ago, but she’s a better survivor than me, so I’m pretty sure if  _ I’m  _ alive, she is, too. And probably without this.” He pointed carelessly at his leg.

Carl was staring at his clothed leg, probably trying to figure out how to ask what happened. Alex didn’t give him any help with that. Instead, he quickly asked a question of his own, because despite his own feelings about telling his story, he is eager to hear the newcomer’s. “What about you? Got any family still alive?”

The silence made Alex afraid that he’d scared him off, but he began to speak after a moment. “Uh… yeah. My dad. Uh, Rick Grimes. And my little sister. Judith.”

“The baby?” Alex asked a little too excitedly. Carl glared at him, and he felt his cheeks heat up. He quickly tore his eyes away from his and stared down at his lap. “Uh-um. Sorry. I was, uh- I- at the gates. When you, uh. When your group.” Alex tried gesturing with his hand, eyes still down, as if that would help. “Got here.”

“Oh,” Carl muttered. “I remember.” Silence again. “Yeah. That’s her.”

“Sorry,” Alex told him again. He had a sudden burning urge to leave. Carl’s not glaring at him anymore, but he still felt a bit unwanted. “Sorry,” he whispered again, though he hadn’t given Carl much time to respond.

Mikey was obviously uncomfortable, but he seemed unwilling to let them stop speaking. This was the most knowledge he’s gleaned about Alex’s life so far, and he’d be damned if he let the opportunity pass. “Um, was it just you and your sister, Alex?”

Alex shook his head, not sure why he was answering questions. “No. My family survived a lot, and they’d be damned if they let a few walking corpses take that from them. They’re all smarter and tougher than me. We lost a few, but…” Alex blinked hard.  _ Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’tthinkaboutitdon’tthinkaboutitdon’tthinkab _ “When, uh- I got sep- uh, I mean…” He clenched his jaw momentarily, sucking in a deep breath. Why is he torturing himself? “I’m- I can’t- I’m  _ not  _ the last one alive. That-that would be  _ cruel. _ ” He glanced up finally and got an eyeful of Mikey’s sympathetic gaze and decided he had enough. “Should go,” he whispered, hands sliding to his side. He tried to use the wall to help himself up and almost failed in his hurry.

“You… need help?” Carl asked carefully.

Alex didn’t look at him. He managed to push himself up. “It was nice to meet you,” he told him as genuinely as he could through his shaking voice. “Bye guys.” Hurriedly, and with a stiff leg, he limped from the room. He almost crashed into Ron on the stairway. He caught him by his elbows though, eyebrows pulled in concern. 

“You leaving?”

Alex avoided his gaze. “Just n-need some air. Th-thanks for inv- bye,” he quickly finished, pulling himself out of his grasp so he could make for the front door. 

Ron’s mom, Jessie, was working on her owl statue in the garage. She glanced up when she saw him walk past and cocked her head. “Are you okay?” She called. 

Alex gave her a bright smile. “Yes, thank you. Just going for a walk.”

She frowned, not convinced. She gave him a slow, sympathetic smile. “Okay,” she amended. “I know I’m Ron’s mom, but if you ever need to talk to someone, I’m here, alright?”

Alex’s smile felt a little more genuine now. “Thanks, Mrs. Anderson.”

Alex tried going home, but he’d never felt particularly comfortable there. He was living with Natalie and Bob Miller, who are very nice people, but he still hasn’t connected with them. He doesn’t know if he will. They’re nice, but they try to treat him like he’s one of their billions of grandchildren, which makes him very uncomfortable because they are so  _ unlike  _ his grandparents. He also gets the feeling that if they knew about his inclinations, they wouldn’t approve, and he unintentionally put a barrier up just to avoid  _ that. _ So he only spent enough time there to down a glass of water before he grabbed a book he had been working through and the walking stick he’d been using for support whenever his leg gets especially weak (like it is now) and headed right back out. He was incredibly glad they weren’t home at the time. They’d probably try to rope him into a conversation he’s not interested in. 

Reading helps him forget things, but he can’t read when he’s agitated. Walking usually calms him down, but it’s hard to walk when people ate half your leg. In the end, the only choice he had was between physical and emotional pain, so, naturally, he chose the former. 

And he walked.

And he walked, and he kept walking, but he kept  _ thinking _ , and he stopped thinking about what he was doing and where he was going and focused instead on just whatever popped into his mind, which is the opposite of what he intended but what happened anyway.

He spent a lot of time thinking over that entire interaction in there. Carl seems nice. He seemed ready to drop the subject when Alex started cracking. That’s nice. He  _ does  _ seem a little hard, though, and there’s no telling what he kind of scars he carries, but finding someone without any scars is like seeing a unicorn. He likes him.

There is no way he can focus on his book.

He lost track of where he was walking and ended up walking down  _ their  _ street. He didn’t want to because he didn’t want to offend them, but it would probably be more offensive if he spun around and walked away  _ now _ . 

There was a man on the porch holding the baby— _ Judith. _ Alex unintentionally stopped and stared at him, eyebrows drawn together, trying to figure out  _ why _ he looks so familiar. He was too wrapped up at first to notice that his companions—the woman with the katana and the man with the crossbow—were staring at him. When he did notice, he blushed, and the woman gave him a gentle smile. When the man holding Judith finally looked his way, he realized why he looked familiar. 

_ No way.  _ It was the leader and Carl’s father, Rick, except he was  _ beardless. _ Once recognition dawned on him, he gaped, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, and the woman chuckled and even the crossbow man smirked. Rick looked a bit uncomfortable, so Alex smiled apologetically. “Sorry,” he called. “It looks good!” He gave him a bright grin and a thumbs up, which made his companions laugh even more. Rick looked even more embarrassed. Alex, too, began to feel the creeping humiliation, but then he looked at the beautiful child in his arms and had an  _ idea  _ that would keep him too busy to think. She can’t have much time to play, can she? Being on the road like that means she probably hasn’t been able to get a lot of sensory stimulation, and Alex remembers being told that it is  _ very  _ important for young children. 

Alex began to walk over to them, and the laughter faded. Rick looked more and more guarded the closer he got, and while the crossbow man stared at him suspiciously, the woman gave him an encouraging but cautious smile. “Hello,” he greeted quietly. “I’m glad you guys came here.”

The woman’s smile widened and Rick seemed to ease, seeing how terrified the boy looked. “Hello. I’m Michonne. This is Rick and Daryl.”

Alex nodded, mouth a bit dry. He doesn’t know why he came over here. No, that’s a lie. He  _ does  _ know why he came over here. He just doesn’t know how he thought he’d have the  _ guts  _ to withstand a conversation with them if he can still barely talk to the people he lives with.  _ Oh, boy. _ “I’m Al-Aleksandr.” For some reason, he felt like he should give his full first name. “Um, Alex.” He nervously tightened his grip on the cane and looked down. “Uh… That’s Judith, right?” All three of them looked up at him quickly and he looked down. “I-I met Carl. That’s what he said her name is.”

“Yeah,” Rick said slowly.

“What do you want?” Daryl asked.

Alex blinked. “Okay. Um. I know everybody’s probably giving you gifts and everything to make you feel more welcome, right? Um. I was just wondering if it would be okay if I make something-”

“You don’t have to,” Rick interrupted him quickly. Right.  _ Right.  _ They’re untrusting. It was stupid for him to think they’d want something he makes them and even  _ more stupid  _ for him to think that they’d want something he made for the  _ baby.  _ They’re probably protective as hell over her. He’s glad he was cut off before he mentioned her because he couldn’t  _ imagine  _ how negatively they’d take it  _ then. _ Alex began to inch away, mind rapidly searching for something to say that can give himself an out. 

“What were you going to make?” Michonne asked, sharing a quick look with Rick.

Alex shook his head quickly, trying not to look as deflated as he felt. “Doesn’t matter. Sorry to have… u-um… bothered you.” Alex was glad he didn’t step up onto their porch. It made getting away so much easier.

Never mind reading. Never mind walking.

Never mind if they tell him no.

He already had it in his head that he was going to make Judith something and he’s  _ going  _ to. They don’t want him to. He probably won’t even present it to them for a while. He just wanted to  _ make  _ it for her because this is her  _ development _ at stake. 

He went straight home as quickly as he could manage, not looking back again. He knows what he’s going to use. He'd already asked the Millers last week if he could have the mason jar he'd found at the top of the closet and, seeing as it wasn't theirs to begin with, they let him. The only ingredients that could have been an issue were not only because Alex is the person he is. He'd almost been embarrassed when he first arrived here because he knew that whoever looked through his bag was going to get a nasty shock. Luckily, it was only Olivia, and she said nothing about the fact that he seemed to be collecting anything with glitter in it. 

He'd never felt more proud of his strange obsession with the stuff than he did today.

Natalie Miller walked in on him while he was heating up water on the stove. “Are you cooking?” She asked, a bit shocked. 

Alex startled, not expecting to see her yet. He shook his head quickly.

“I'm making a present for the baby. A glitter jar. I had one when I was little. Can I use some of the food coloring?”

Natalie nodded. “Do you want me to help you?”

She's trying to connect. Alex shifted, feeling a bit slighted by her question. He's fifteen. He doesn't need help playing with glitter. “I'm good,” he told her, turning off the stove. He poured the hot water into the mason jar, feeling her eyes on him. He looked up at her and then she left again to sit on the porch. Alex almost felt bad, like he'd accidentally kicked this old woman out of her own kitchen, but then he was putting a drop of blue food coloring in the water and pulling the glitter glue out of his bag and he didn't think too hard about what he'd accidentally done. 

Silver and blue glitter glue.  _ That almost rhymes.  _

Silver glitter. He's always liked the way silver and blue look together. Blue and gold is almost charming, too, but silver and blue makes him feel cool and it makes his heart feel fluttery. It reminds him of space, even when the blue isn't horribly dark. It reminds him of the vastness of the universe. God, he almost wished he'd made her a galaxy jar instead, but then he decided that  _ glitter is better _ because this way she can shake it and interact with it like that. It's important for her to be able to watch the glitter swirl on her own terms. This way she can control at least one aspect in her life, and it can be the whole galaxy. She deserves to hold something spectacular like that in her hands. She deserves to be mesmerized by the swirling sparkles and the soothing colors.

He glued the lid to the top when he was done and pleased with the finished product that way she wouldn't accidentally open it. 

God, he hopes she likes it. He hopes she gets as much fulfillment out of it as he did when he was little. 

He likes the way it turned out. It's very blue and very sparkly and he hopes she likes it, too. 

_ Of course I'm not trying to win her affection through gifts.  _ He totally is. He misses spending time with children. He misses Tía and her children. God. He hopes they're doing okay wherever they are.

He watched the glitter swirl, letting it calm  _ him _ , and even considered just keeping it for himself, but he knew that was a stupid idea because he made it for Judith. 

_ What if she doesn't like glitter?  _

Everyone likes glitter.

He put it in an old paper bag and set it on his desk for later. He didn't want to keep it for too long or else it loses the effect of a welcome gift, but he also didn't want to run it over there immediately.

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the day after.  _ Shit, but the day after tomorrow is the welcoming party, isn't it?  _ He can't give it to them on that same day. He’ll be expected to go to the party and that would be too much social interaction for one day. 

_ I guess I'll give it to them tomorrow. _ He really didn't want to, but he knew it would be the best time. Especially if they decide to leave after they go to the party like he wanted to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't mind Alex he's played too many video games as a child and is convinced every type of enemy deserves a special name. Also i hope you guys didn't overlook that "glitter" tag.  
> I was going to wait to publish this one but then I was reading some other fics and remembered how painful 1/? chapters feels so uhhh here ya go  
> Gosh when I wrote this I had to look up instructions for how to make those glitter jars because I dont ever do that stuff and I ended up on YouTube for an hour watching instructional videos for different arts and crafts.  
> Also for future reference: since I'm only completely fluent in english, this is an english fic, and any russian words I'll add are going to be romanized for your convenience. (Because wow i remember reading an anime fic once and they used a lot of japanese and they used actual hiragana and katakana and I don't mind usually but it messed up my internal narrative a bit)  
> Unless.... yall want the russian  
> Anyway-- i hope you guys liked this. Thank you for reading


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually do end notes, but I need to include some warnings beforehand:  
> The events in the basement are revisited,  
> And there is some self-harm. It's not with graphic in this case, but it's never something to be taken lightly. I'm not intending to romanticize any of this, and I don't condone this.   
> Also, please take another look at the notes if you haven't already. I added a few after it was brought to my intention that I'd left them out. I deeply apologize for this, as it was never my intention to exclude such important warnings.  
> Thank you!

School here has always been a little strange. It's only a few hours, which he knows is less than it was back before all this, but it still felt strange to have an allotted time just for  _ learning _ . Alex’s grandfather on his dad's side and his grandmother on his mom’s side would continue to teach the children while Tía was busy with Claudia, but they never had a set time for these teachings. Usually Dedushka would teach Alex and Val while they were on the road or walking. Sometimes it was while they were fighting; Alex learned most of what he knows about guns and knives from his grandfather. Abuela would teach them more survival skills, like which plants are good and which ones were not to be eaten and when water is safe. Though Abuela and Dedushka are very different people, they agreed on a lot and both would teach the children in the morning, before bed, and whenever the day got slow. They'd sing in Russian or Spanish before bed and they'd talk about the old life as much as possible. They taught him history and things about the government and science and even humored him and studied math books to help teach them that. They  _ tried _ . They didn't call it school, but they tried, and they taught him a hell of a lot more than anyone else could.

But Alexandria is holding onto the old. Which is good, he supposes, because they know life goes on. But it's also bad because they're not just trying to move on and preserve the old, but they're trying to relive the old. If they do that, they'll never adapt. They'll just be stuck in the past. Nobody’s going to magically discover a cure, so the best thing to do is to learn to deal with it, because it's going to be a part of life now. They aren't doing that, though. How many of the children here even remember what the dead look like? How many have actually ever had to kill one? That's no way to move forward. 

“You okay, Alex?” Alex blinked, a bit lost, and looked at his friends. Ron had asked the question, but Enid was staring at him just as curiously. Mikey had been a bit quieter around him since yesterday at Ron’s house, like he's afraid of saying the wrong thing and making him run away again.  _ Damn _ . He hadn't meant for that. “M’good,” Alex told them, smiling convincingly. Ron flashed a smile back at him and Alex looked down before he could let Enid’s disappointment seep into him.

“You coming over again today?” Ron asked. Alex glanced up a bit, an apologetic smile on his face.

“Maybe another time? There's a book on my nightstand that's calling my name.”

“That’s cool.”

“If you want to stop by you always can,” Mikey added quickly, smiling apologetically at Alex. Alex smiled back.

“Sure.” Nobody mentioned that Mikey had invited him to a house that wasn’t his. 

He only walked with them until he had to split to go back to his house. Bob and Natalie were sitting on the porch, and he gave them friendly smiles and a soft greeting before heading inside. Bob stopped him, though. “Did you meet the new neighbors yet?”

Alex shrugged, the smile still on his face. “I met a couple of them. I made something for them, though, so I’ll probably bring it over there later.”

“Oh!” Natalie exclaimed, as if she’d just remembered something. “I made an apple pie for them. When you bring them your present, could you please bring the pie too?” Alex nodded. “Thank you, sweetheart!”

_ Domestic. _

Alex beamed at her. “It’s no problem.” His stomach was sinking. Now he can’t convince himself to wait another day to bring the gift over. Now he  _ has  _ to do it today.

He went inside before they could ask him anything else. He doesn’t want to get attached to them. They’re not like his grandparents. Abuela survived two abusive husbands and always landed back on her feet, ready to fight tooth and nail for herself and her kids. When someone tried to mug Abuela, she stole his knife and told him to try again when he’s ready to actually fight (or, at least that's what she said. Val never believes it, but Alex can't think of any other explanation for how she got the knife). Dedushka is a crazy bastard who taught Alex how to skin an animal while singing a nursery rhyme under his breath. Dedushka hasn’t told him half the stuff he’s been through, but every now and then his eyes go dark and his mouth goes tight and Alex feels like he  _ knows _ . When the love of his life died, it was obvious he was hurting inside—and Abuela too, since they were friends since they were nineteen—but he was strong for everybody else. When Abuela and Tía moved in with them after she lost her house, he welcomed his “little sister” and his son’s sister-in-law with open arms, professing that they’re family, related by blood or not. His family has struggled before they had to, and Alex has always felt like they can survive anything. He’d always thought highly of them—especially Dedushka and Abuela—but he’d never thought so highly until he saw the two of them take charge when the evacuations started and protect their family so viciously. He’s seen his grandmother slit a man’s throat. He’s seen his grandfather stand on a truck and kill fourteen undead on a road with a bow. He’s seen his grandmother shoot a man in the back of the head. He’s seen the two of them take down a group of five men with their own guns.

He can’t see the Millers being nearly that vicious.

He can’t get attached if they don’t have a good chance of surviving. He’s already started to get attached to some of the teenagers and children here, and that’s a bad sign. Even the strongest have a chance of being lost, but the young and the old are much less likely to survive if they’ve been holed up in here. 

He doesn’t want to lose anyone.

Alex locked himself in the upstairs bathroom and turned it on hot. Standing with his head down, he let the steaming water pummel his back, the heat that seeped into his skin painful.

He didn’t mind. He used coconut shampoo and conditioner.  _ Conditioner.  _ He still isn’t used to that. He still isn’t completely used to  _ shampoo  _ and  _ soap. _ But damn, did it make his hair soft. He likes  _ that.  _

He considered putting glitter in his hair but then he remembered that he’s bringing that glitter jar over to Rick’s and he might show up too  _ sparkly _ . He also remembered Bob Miller is pretty religious, and while he doesn’t know the extent of that or what type or whatever, it does make him a little nervous that there’s a chance that he’s the homophobic religious type. He really hopes he isn’t. Alex knows that he’s lucky that his own family is the love-everyone religious type, but he never forgets that not everyone is that way. He saw enough of that in middle school when he kissed Johnny Harris.  _ Oh, god. _

So no glitter in his hair. He can live with that. He’ll do it another time. No big deal. Not at all.

He loves showers. He forgot how good they are. He forgot how good it felt to be soft and clean while he was out there, and he’s been abusing the shower since he got here.  _ Nobody really cares, though. _ It’s nice to be clean and  _ smell good.  _ Like coconuts. Like a summer he never experienced. 

After he dried himself off and slipped on his jeans and a clean dark green tee, he vigorously brushed his teeth, washed his face, and hopped up on the counter. 

His hair is getting long. Mrs. Anderson offered him a haircut, but he declined, telling her he’s fine with it for now and he’ll come to her another time. Truthfully, he just likes it. It hasn’t reached his shoulders yet, but it brushed his jaw, and it’s wavy and soft enough that it doesn’t look weird and flat like he’s some unhygienic villain on a movie. It looks  _ good. _ It’s also long enough to braid it like he’s a Jedi. He did that—he braided a lock under the mass of it on his right side. He’s still entitled to dream a little, isn’t he? (Plus, seeing the thin braid peek out from under his hair in the mirror put a bright smile on his face that he didn't want to lose.)

After slipping on a maroon sweatshirt, he jogged back down the stairs to find that the Millers have migrated inside. Bob smiled up at him momentarily from where he sat at the dinner table, his eyes quickly falling back to the book he was reading. Natalie was looking through a photo album. Alex felt a small pang of sympathy; the photo album, he knows, is of their children and grandchildren. Sheltered or not, they’ve lost people, too. Alex knows he's being too hard on them, but he just still doesn't  _ know  _ how he feels about them. He wants to like them.  _ He really does. _

He considered heading for the door, but Natalie began speaking. “One of the new neighbors, Carol, came by with dinner.” She gestured to the counter, a smile on her face. 

“She seems nice,” Bob added.

Alex nodded slowly, eying the half-eaten casserole and making for the plates. He got himself a serving big enough so that the Millers wouldn't make him get more and sat at the table with them, eating silently. They didn’t talk to him. They’d tried at first, but when they realized it makes him uncomfortable, they’ve welcomed his silence. He appreciates that. It is a bit awkward, though, but it's been getting easier.

Alex ate as quickly as he could and cleaned the plate. “I’m going to go upstairs and read,” he informed them. Natalie glanced up.

“Don’t forget to bring them the pie later! And tell Carol I said thank you again.”

Alex nodded, inching backwards out of the dining room. “Sure,” he agreed. “I’ll do that soon.”

He didn’t do it soon. He got wrapped up in his reading. Holden Caulfield has that effect on him. He didn’t remember to do it until he glanced outside and it was already dark.

_ Shit. _

He hopes they’re not asleep. He doesn’t want to wake them up for this. They won’t like him then.  _ Shit. _

He picked up the paper bag off his dresser and shuffled down the stairs as quickly as his leg would allow, feeling guilty about waiting so  _ long. _ Maybe it’ll be okay. Maybe it’s not  _ that _ late. Maybe this just means they’re all home from their jobs or whatever.

Well, Natalie and Bob are still awake, so that’s a good sign. “Bringing the gifts over?” Bob chuckled from the couch. Alex nodded quickly, opening the fridge and pulling out the pie. “Not using your cane?”

Alex clenched his jaw.  _ Shit.  _ “No, I think I’ll be okay,” he told him. “It’s not as bad as everyone makes it out to be.” Bob stared at him, unwaveringly skeptical.

“... If you think so,” Natalie caved, an unsure smile on her face. 

“I do,” Alex confirmed quickly.

“Is that a braid in your hair?”

“No,” Alex lied. “Bye.”

He left the house quicker than his leg would usually allow.  _ Whatever _ . It’ll have to get used to moving quickly if something bad happens.  _ Like the people who took you in noticing you braided your hair.  _ Thank god he didn’t put the glitter in.

Knowing that it couldn’t be  _ too  _ late if the Millers are still up, Alex didn’t rush to Rick’s house. He didn’t want to completely bust his ass—or  _ leg _ , he guesses—going there. 

It was a very nice night. There was a slight breeze, and it is a  _ littl _ e chilly, but his thin sweatshirt was enough to keep him warm and make him feel safe. He would love to take a walk, so this trip did have  _ some  _ benefits. 

He could see some light spilling through the curtains, so he at least knew they were still awake and he won’t be causing trouble. He just hopes they’re okay with late company; he hates when people show up late in the day. At least he’ll be out of their hair quickly.

He stood at the door without knocking for too long. But god, his stomach was doing flips. These people are dangerous. But he has to bring them the pie. Sucking in a deep breath, he knocked quietly on the door and took a few steps back. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and stared at the doorknob, his heart hammering. 

It took them a few moments to open the door, despite the fact that he knew they knew he was at the door before he knocked because he heard them quiet down as soon as his shadow passed over their window. They’re probably all getting ready to fight him if he causes trouble. Oh,  _ shit _ .

The door opened and he had meant to just shove the pie and the baggie into the arms of whoever it was and run away because fuck social interaction, but, once again, Rick left him gaping. He was in a uniform. “Are you… like, the sheriff?”

Rick stared back at him, and he could see all his companions staring at him, too. The young man at the table with Carl slowly broke into a grin, trying to suppress his laughter. The man he ran into when they first arrived smirked, too, and the pretty woman beside him began to smile.  _ Oh, god. _ Finally, Carl’s companion couldn’t keep it together anymore and began to laugh, and the other two started up, too, and before he knew it everybody was either smiling (however slight) or laughing or not looking  _ completely  _ hostile and even  _ Rick  _ is smirking and Alex is staring at the ground and his face is  _ burning, burning, burning. _ “Sorry,” he muttered. 

“The kid says sorry too much,” he heard Daryl mumble from inside. Alex would’ve apologized for that, too, but, wisely, he kept his mouth shut. 

“Deanna made me and Michonne the constables,” Rick told him. It’s like he finally showed pity for the boy’s humiliation or something.

“Oh,” Alex muttered, forcing a smile. He also forced himself to look back up at Rick. “That’s-that’s good.” He didn’t mean for his voice to get lower and serious. “We need some.” The smiles faded and Rick stared at him, curious. Alex shifted. Holding out the hand with the pie, he chewed the inside of his cheek. “Natalie Miller wanted me to bring you all this. It’s  _ apple pie. _ Uh, she also wanted me to tell, uh, Carol? Uh, thanks for the casserole again…” 

A woman with short grey hair beamed at him.  _ That must be Carol.  _ “It was my pleasure!”

She’s awfully  _ friendly.  _ She didn’t look so friendly when they first showed up. She looked confident and as terrifying as the rest of them.  _ Okay. _ He tore his eyes away from her after a quick nod, hoping his suspicion didn’t show. “What’s that?” Rick asked, eying the other bag.

Fuck, Alex didn’t mean to blush that hard. But he almost forgot about it.  _ There's still time to turn around and just go home, Shurik. _ “Oh. Um.” He coughed once and tugged at his hair.  _ His soft hair. _ “I was a fussy baby,” was what he led with, and that led to a  _ lot  _ of curious gazes, and he wondered if that’s not what he should’ve said, but he had to finish  _ now.  _ He spoke very quickly. “And my dad died when I was real young and for a while my mom was involved with a lot of  _ bad  _ people, and a lot of them didn’t really, uh… like me. Or kids. So she made me something like this, right? And it calmed me down. And I had a baby cousin, and I remember my aunt always going on about how important  _ sensory stimulation  _ or whatever is for child development when she was little, and I remember her making stuff like this for her, too, so I figured, uh.” Alex shrugged. His face was a little hotter than he wanted it to be. “I know you told me not to make anything when I asked, but I did it anyway, so, uh, please don’t, um, arrest me.” Alex cringed, and the young man laughed again, and he cringed again, and Carl kicked the kid under the table and he stopped laughing and Alex suddenly decided he was right in liking Carl _. _

Rick ignored the commotion behind him and took the proffered bag. He looked inside and cocked his eyebrows. “You made this?”

“I know it’s not really a  _ toy _ ,” Alex said instead of answering. It was practically an apology, but apologizing had become a habit. He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling a little self-conscious. “But it’ll help. A-and I can make a toy if you want me to! Most my toys growing up were homemade. I'm pretty good at carving.” A slow grin spread across his face. “Both sides of my family are kind of traditional in that way. Real creative. Helped De-” He cleared his throat. “Helped my grandpa make half of Claudia’s toys, so if-”

“It’s okay,” Rick interrupted, his eyes a little wide. His interruption wasn’t unkind, though. It actually felt like he was just trying to soothe his nerves. “Thank you. For this.” Alex nodded, mouth a bit dry. He paused his nodding for a moment, then nodded again, sucked in a breath, allowed a shiver to run through his body, and began to step backwards, not wanting to linger. Before he could utter out his goodbye, though, Rick spoke again. “Do you want to come in?”

Yes. It's colder than he'd let himself believe earlier. “I've bothered you guys enough.” He made sure to smile so it looked like a joke. “Thanks, though.”

“Come in,” Rick told him, and even though it wasn't a choice anymore, Alex didn't really feel threatened. Still, when the town constable tells you to do something, you do it.

He bit his lip and nodded silently and shoved his hands in his sweatshirt pocket before he walked in as evenly as he could manage. Rick shut the door behind him, but Alex lingered by it.

“I'll put these in the other room,” Domestic Rick told him, leaving with the pie and gift.

“Alex,” Michonne addressed him gently. He lifted his eyes from the floor to hers. “Where's your cane?”

He'd forgotten they saw him with it yesterday. “O-oh. Uh, I don't use it all the time.” He shifted a bit. “My leg just got real stiff from sitting yesterday. Um. I'm supposed to use it more, but as long as I don't overexert myself I'll be okay, right?” He honestly had no idea. The answer was probably  _ no. _ “And if I have to run for something I gotta make sure I can do it without  _ help. _ ”

“You have a cane?” The man he'd bumped into a couple days ago asked. “Sorry. I'm Glenn.”

Finally. A name to put to the face. He smiled softly and leaned against the wall. He doesn't mind talking to other people who have been out there. They don't look at him strangely, and words sort of come spilling out. It's like when he's with his family, and their gazes are open and willing to listen and they don't get weird clouds of  _ judgement  _ over their faces. For the first time in a while, Alex almost felt like an open book—like he'd always tried to be. Rick reentered the room as Glenn asked the question, but he lingered by the entryway to the kitchen. “Yeah,” he said quietly, pointing down at his leg. He didn't really tell many people here what happened, but that was more due to the fact that none of them really have  _ any  _ idea what it's like out there. They'll see what happened as a weakness, or as another way to warn their kids of the danger outside. As nothing but a symbol of why it's better inside the walls.

“Was it like that before?”

Alex chuckled, allowing his hair to fall in front of his face a bit. “No. Uh, this happened about a month ago. When Aaron and Eric found me. I owe them my life.”  _ Thanks for not killing them. _ Alex shrugged. It's easier talking about the stuff he's faced on his own than it is talking about family. At least this is all physical torment that's in the past. “Found me in a basement the same way you'd find anyone in a basement. Stripped, tied up, gagged, starved, and covered in blood.” He offered them a half-smile to lighten the mood, but they were all staring at him intently. His smile faded.

“What happened?” Sasha asked. She looked concerned. 

He can't say this too lightly. He can't mention any of his experiences  _ too  _ lightly. He also can't say it too seriously. “Cannibals,” he said plainly, careful not to let any emotions slip through. “Family of ‘em. They were kinda mad at me ‘cause I almost escaped, so they figured they'd rough me up a bit and tie me up down there and take little bits of me at a time.” He wasn't looking at anyone. He hates seeing people react to things he says. “Kept the other ones in this barn. They only got through part my thigh before some of the other ones got out and slaughtered ‘em. They didn't know about me, so they left, and I kinda just thought I'd starve down there or die of infection or something.”  _ Hoped for it a few times.  _ “But Aaron and Eric showed up, helped me out, and brought me here.” He met Glenn’s gaze again. He looked a little horrified. “An’ my leg’s a little weak sometimes ‘cause it'll take a long time for the muscle to heal itself if it ever does, so I use a cane when it's feeling kind of weak.” He shrugged, a light smile on his face. They were all still staring. The deep-seated sadness some showed made him wonder if they've run into cannibals at some point. If they've lost someone to it. “Can't really complain though. I'm alive, so it's whatever.”

“It ain't whatever,” Daryl grumbled. 

“Yeah,” Alex agreed, bravely meeting his gaze. “It's not.”  _ But it's not like I've got any choice now. _

He likes these people.

It went quiet, though, and Alex leaned a little more heavily against the wall. He let his head thump against it, not caring that it hurt a bit when he did it. Not really. His eyes traced the walls, like he was trying to memorize the layout of the room for no other reason other than he was trying to avoid looking at any of them. When one of them broke the silence, he was secretly glad it wasn't about his story, but his stomach dropped anyway because it was the brown-haired woman by Glenn and she asked, “Did you braid your hair?”

She didn't sound unkind about it. Just curious. Either way, Alex glared at her as defensively as he could. He could look pretty threatening when he wanted to. But she just smiled in the face of his warning and added, “It looks good on you.”

He wasn't really expecting that, and he was more flattered than he'd meant to be. He ducked his head when he first grinned and blushed, but made sure to lift it so he could smile brightly her way. “Thanks,” he told her, unable to hide his pleasure at the comment. She was smirking back. 

“I'm Maggie.”

“Alex,” he said quickly and out of habit.

“You wanna sit somewhere, Alex?” Rick asked. 

Alex glanced at the front door. He likes them, but they're still scary as hell. “You don't have to,” Michonne quickly added. 

“Uh-um. I-I guess.”

The boy across from Carl who had laughed a few times stood up from his seat. He held out a hand. “Noah.”

Alex blinked. Swallowing thickly, he shook his hand, and the next thing he knew he was falling into the seat he gave up, feeling light headed. 

Rick looked away to share a long look with Michonne. Alex began to wonder what he'd just walked into. Michonne gave Rick a short, almost imperceptible nod, and Rick nodded back, and Alex finally built up the courage to look at Carl, who was staring at his father just like the rest of them, and he realized he'd be getting no help here.  _ Fuck. _

Then Rick looked back at him and  _ smiled _ , and Alex felt the eyes on him again, smiling or nodding, and he felt a little sick. The next thing he knew was he was being swept up in a whirlwind of introductions and he was so,  _ so  _ glad he's half decent at putting names to faces. 

When the introductions stopped the others began talking quietly amongst themselves, resuming whatever they were doing before he showed up. They didn't stop glancing at him, but they looked slightly less hostile and suspicious than before. Looking down at the table, he realized he'd interrupted a card game between Noah and Carl. Carl began clearing the cards off the table. “What…” Alex whispered. Carl looked up with a stern and stoic expression that made him look like his father. Alex tried again, mouth a little dry. He's really intense. It's kind of hot. “What just happened?”

“Guess they accept you.” He went back to stacking the cards.

Alex blinked. That's a good thing, right? Hadn't he been half hoping for this? He's not sure anymore, but it does make him feel a  _ little  _ better about everything. “Sorry about leaving so fast yesterday,” he said instead. “At Ron’s.”

“S’cool,” Carl told him, not looking up. Alex felt something sick twisting in his gut. He's acting a little cold.

_ Sorry for whatever I did to upset you. Sorry I'm here if that's what's upsetting you. Sorry I like you more than you like me. Please don't hate me. _ “Sorry,” he said again, hoping Carl realized it was for something more than yesterday.

Alex tapped lightly on his bad leg. It doesn't hurt much anymore. Not physically. It's like a big, numb, scabbing-over, bandage-covered missing chunk in his leg. The only pain is the deep ache that comes from trying to use it. Not touching it. He wondered if something’s wrong.  _ Besides missing half the meat on your leg? Probably. _

So he traced a hand up to his ribs instead and pressed down hard on the dark bruise there until he started to feel a little dizzy with the white-hot pain that erupted. Carl still didn't speak. Alex wanted to leave. His cheeks burned with the embarrassment of not knowing what social blunder he'd clearly made. He dug his fingers in harder, until his vision was spotty and he had to bite his tongue to keep himself from vocalizing the pain.

“Did you have a group?” The large redhead, Abraham, asked. Alex blinked, not sure at first if he was talking to him. Slowly he pried his fingers from his side. Rosita watched him do so, suspicious.  _ Shit. Hope she didn't see. _

“Uh, yeah. I got separated from them though. Me, my grandma, my grandpa, my sister, my aunt, and our little cousin.” He smiled apologetically. “She's six.”

“It was just the six of you?” Glenn asked. “The whole time?”

Alex nodded a bit numbly. Since yesterday he knew he'd have to talk about this to someone eventually. As long as he keeps it light it should be okay, right? “My mom, too. And my other aunt, and my uncle. But,” he shrugged as nonchalantly as he could, “you know.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Glenn told him, and he looked like he  _ meant  _ it. 

“It's good you all stayed together so long,” Maggie offered. She stepped forward and rested a hand on his shoulder. He was reminded of Tía. “I'm sorry you lost them. The walkers take a lot from us.”

Alex nodded. He didn't tell them that his mom died of a seizure, not a bite. The only thing the walkers took from her was her supplier. Maggie squeezed his shoulder and let go, walking to sit beside Glenn again. “What about you guys?” He asked, mostly just wanting to get the attention off of himself for a little bit.

They looked at each other a bit, as if debating whether or not to tell him their story, which kind of sucks when you just got finished telling them about that one time you were cannibalized. Noah stepped forward before the others finished their silent debate. “I just joined up with them,” he told Alex, who breathed in relief. “I was staying in this hospital...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alex, sitting on the wall with a rifle in his lap, looking at the domesticity of Alexandria: "There's an expression in the wasteland: 'Old World Blues'..."  
> And uh for your reference: the gang totally did not tell Alex everything that went down over the past few seasons. It was probably just Noah giving his own little story and Alex feeling relieved that he didn't mess up in that conversation.  
> And... I'm sorry to inform you, but Alex's fascination with pain is a thing. It's not a good thing, but it's a thing. It's been a thing. He's been through a lot.   
> As for the Jedi braid: 14 year old me and my friends all secretly braided tiny braids in our hair. It was comforting, almost. Poor Alex is just a little more self conscious about it than he has to be, but he feels happy wearing it.   
> One more thing, because I'd failed to mentioned this earlier! Sometimes Alex calls himself "Shurik" in his head, yeah? And in chapter 1, when Rick called for Sasha, he was startled. It's important to note that both "Shurik" and "Sasha" are diminutives/nicknames(ish) of the name "Aleksandr," (similar to how "Tanya" is to "Tatiana" and "Vitya" is to "Viktor") and while he typically prefers "Shurik," there are a few members of his dad's side who've called him "Sasha."  
> He goes by Alex to most people he meets, as you know, but to his family and to himself he's usually Shurik. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I know I spat out all three of these chapters way too fast, but it'll be a while before I'll update again, probably. I'm still writing chapter 4, and school starts back up this week, so I wanted to leave you guys with this much at least. I have been... genuinely shocked with the amount of support you've been giving me, so I just want to further express how grateful I am to all of you who read this, or give me kudos, or comment. Thank you for taking the time out of your day to look at my writing. I hope you have a wonderful day!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its october when the hell did that happen

If he dies any time soon, he wants it to be like this.

Though there was something almost funny to him about the idea of dying with a gag in his mouth, he didn’t like the rest of all that. It wouldn’t have been preferable to die tied up to a post in a gross basement bleeding from his leg. That wouldn’t be cool. That would just be horrifying.

But if he dies like this, he thinks it’ll be okay. 

It was the first time since he came here that he was wearing shorts, and that was only because he snuck out. He wouldn’t wear them inside the walls. People would stare at his leg, even if it is thoroughly wrapped. He doesn’t like that.

But out here, there’s no one to stare. Up here, the only thing that can bother him are the chirping birds and the leaves brushing against him and the hum of the cicadas. The sun tries to leak through the trees, and it casts brilliant shadows on the ground and his face. His left leg hung limply off the branch, the rough bark grazing his inner thigh every time he moved it—and he moved it a lot, but just barely, because the grazing felt kind of good. He’d just finally decided to let his eyes close, enjoying the sound of the breeze and the notable lack of growling and the smell of the forest overpowering the ever-present stench of decay. His hand was rested over the book on his stomach—a copy of  _ Metro 2033 _ he got seven months ago when he was still with his family. His grandfather had been smug; he’d been wanting to find Alex a book written in Russian that way he could practice reading it more, now that it’s not quite as easy to find non-English books. Abuela had lamented; she was certain she’d find a book in Spanish before they found a book in Russian (which really, really made sense; they  _ should _ have found a Spanish book first) and found herself owing Dedushka three bottles of soda.

Dedushka hadn’t read this book, but he’d heard of it, he said, and told Alex if he needs help—since, after all, he’s still learning—to just ask.

_ Nothing quite like reading a book about the nuclear apocalypse during the zombie apocalypse.  _ Something was bound to happen eventually, right?

Alex does need help, but it’s kind of hard to ask for help with Russian when Dedushka’s not around.

Alex had been working his way through the book, though, but very slowly. He’s always kind of afraid to bring it out in case people see it and make some stupid paranoid connections. He doesn’t know how the Millers would react. He imagined they’d say something about communism. He also wonders if his impression of the Millers is even close to being accurate or if he’s just  _ horribly  _ biased against older adults he's not related to. He had seen enough of other parents’ stares when his grandfather would pick him up from school, though, so maybe there's a basis for that bias.  _ Damn small towns. _

“ _ Hey.” _

Alex almost fell out of the tree. He hadn’t even heard someone walk up. He lifted his head and peered down, eyes wide.

Enid stood at the base of the tree, staring up at him, face straight. “Why are you up there?”

Alex decided to pretend like it wasn’t weird that she’s out here since he is, too. “Uh.” He pushed himself up so he could inch down the branch. Enid took a step back so he could drop onto the ground beside her. He held up his book. “Reading.”

She stared at him. “Can’t you do that inside?”

Alex shook his head. “I think the Millers will have heart attacks if they see this.”

“What, is it porn or something?”

“God, I wish.” Enid continued to stare at him, but she couldn’t fight the small smirk. He let himself grin. “Anyway, I like it better out here. Less…” He worked his jaw. “Domestic.”

“You don’t talk much,” she pointed out, “to the guys.”

“It’s weird talking when their eyes get all glowy whenever I mention what it’s like out here.”

She didn’t smile or respond, but he got the impression she understood. “I’m heading back,” she told him.

“I should too.”

“I won’t wait for you.” She glanced down at his leg. 

He smiled at her. “I’ll keep up.”

Thank god she didn’t decide to run. That would’ve been terrible. The two teens walked back to the gates in silence. He let Enid lead the way since he had a feeling she actually had a way in and out. He’d snuck out through the front gates in the morning before anyone really noticed. It would be hard to sneak back in that way.

Enid had a way, though, and he climbed the wall after her and pushed hard so his leg wouldn’t go all weak and make him fall to the damn ground and embarrass himself in front of the coolest person here.

“You good?” She asked after he was already on the ground over the wall. She said it like someone who had been prodded to by somebody else—all awkward and hesitantly and like she didn’t  _ really  _ care but was forced to be polite. He appreciated it, though. He knows that’s just how she deals.

“Yeah, thanks.”

She didn’t say anything else to him before she walked away. 

Alex took a deep breath. He's making progress with her. That's good. 

He thought he'd walk home without having to interact with anyone else, but he was, as always, wrong. Tara walked past him and stopped him gently with a hand on his arm. She, at least, didn't speak; she just reached for his hair and pulled out a leaf. “I'm not going to ask,” she told him, and walked away. 

_ Then _ he thought he was home free. 

Until he almost passed the Anderson house. He could have passed it—probably  _ easily _ —despite the fact that Ron, Mikey, and Carl were all sitting on the porch. They didn’t notice him at first and seemed to be having a good time. Alex probably stared a little too long, both surprised and a little mesmerized to see that Carl is  _ laughing.  _ Weird. He’s acclimating faster than he has.

A longing to go over there and sit with them and laugh with them and be a part of their group tugged violently at his chest, but he swallowed it down and started walking again. They might not want him there. Maybe they tried to invite him but he was away—maybe they didn’t. Maybe they thought it would be more fun to hang out with just the people who actually try to hang out. The ones that make the effort.  _ Not Alex. _ Honestly, he couldn’t blame them for excluding him if they did. He’s not exactly a cheerful person to have around all the time. 

He kept walking. He’s on the other side of the street and they haven’t noticed him yet, so he doubts they will now. The only problem was that Jessie isn’t quite as oblivious as three laughing teen boys. She was in the garage, still working on that statue, and Alex met her eyes when she glanced up.  _ Don’tsayanythingdon’tsayanythingdon’tsayanything. _

“Alex!” She called, a bright smile on her face. Sometimes he wondered if his mom would have been like Jessie Anderson if dad didn’t die so early. Alex thought she probably would have. She always looked at the picket fence mothers with longing. 

Alex smiled back at her. Reluctantly, he looked back at the porch to see the boys all staring at him. They were all offering him friendly smiles—even  _ Carl. Weirdo. _ Ron waved him over, and he obeyed. He didn’t have a choice, anyway. They didn’t say anything while he approached, and he was on the second step from the top of the porch before Mikey said, “Those are short, man.”

Alex couldn’t help himself; he snickered. “S’why they’re called shorts.”

“Yeah, but… they’re  _ short. _ ” Alex paused at the top step, staring at him incredulously. To his credit, Mikey looked a bit embarrassed.

“That’s why they’re called  _ booty _ shorts,” Ron interjected. Alex’s smirk grew.

“O _ kay,  _ but why do you have them? Where’d you even  _ get  _ them?”

Mikey’s not being mean. He knows that. He’s just genuinely  _ curious _ because Alex has worn nothing but jeans since he got here. They’d never even seen his  _ ankles  _ before, probably. “Probably found it in a store,” Carl pointed out. Alex’s smirk transformed into a grin. What beautiful people. He's missed friendly ribbing between friends.  _ Not that he's assuming they see him as a friend, of course. This could be malicious.  _ He had a feeling it's not, though.

Mikey groaned, obviously not quite pleased with everyone picking on him. “I just mean… Have you worn them before?”

“Look, man, if you’re gonna stare at his ass all day, at least let him sit down for a while first.” Taking Ron’s hint, Mikey scooted over on the bench. He is blushing furiously now. To Alex, it's kind of funny seeing someone else’s embarrassment goaded. He's used to being the one embarrassed.

Mikey looked up at Alex. “I’m not like that, man. I wasn't staring at your ass,” he promised as sincerely as he could as Alex slid onto the bench.  _ You didn’t have to say you’re not like that. I get it, though. _ It still put him in a bitter mood, but he swallowed it down. Besides, he's probably staring at his bandaged leg; it's the first time he's really exposed that thing to these guys.

“Just your shorts,” Carl added, glancing at Alex.

Ah, fuck it. He’s tired of being quiet anyway, and this is just the type of conversation he's okay with being in. As long as nobody gets weird, he's okay. “Hey man, I don't care if you stare. No judgement here.” Ron grinned and Carl let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. Mikey stared at him with large eyes. He was clearly trying to figure out of what Alex just said was sincere or if he was teasing him, too.

“Wait, you're messing with me, aren't you?”

Alex laughed, even if it wasn’t really that funny, because he felt like it was what he was supposed to do. And it felt kind of good to laugh in a way that wasn’t bitter or self-deprecating. It died down sooner than it maybe should have, and Alex picked at the hem of his shorts, finally getting a little self conscious about it. Ron leaned forward to look Alex in the eye better. “Where were you? We went to your house to see if you wanted to hang out, but Mrs. Miller said you left in the morning.”

“You know,” Alex evaded, shrugging. His voice had grown quieter again. “Places.” He likes these conversations less. He wished they would go back to the playful teasing, even if he was wishing he'd never snagged these shorts from the women’s section of that department store they'd barricaded themselves in for the night a year or so ago.

“Oh, come on,” Ron argued. “You can at least  _ try  _ to lie.”

Alex chuckled darkly. “You  _ really  _ want to know where I was?” Ron stared at him. “I was hanging out with your girlfriend. We’re  _ besties _ .”

“Fine. Don’t tell me.” Alex couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. He's not even  _ lying. _

“Okay, okay. I was looking for a good place to  _ read.  _ That just sounds a lot less cool, though, you know?”

“A lot less cool,” Mikey teased, “but we expect that of you.”

“Reading? Or being uncool?”

“Both.”

Alex rolled his eyes. They're not being mean, he thinks. It's okay. Carl spoke up, watching him with that intent look in his eye. “What are you reading?”

Damn. Only here a few days and it's like he's already discovered that all it takes is a serious look for Alex to cave. If he was Ron asking with that polite smile or Mikey with the hesitant voice he uses when he's trying to coax an answer out of Alex, he probably wouldn't have answered. Trying not to look too overwhelmed by the sudden dryness in his mouth, Alex practically shoved the book his way. Carl took it casually and peered at the cover. He looked at the back and his eyebrows pulled together. Alex watched him quickly skim through. “Uh…”

“It’s in Russian,” Alex confirmed. “Come by later if you want to borrow a book. I’ve got too many.” Carl looked up at him, mouth a little open and eyes a bit wide, and began to hand the book back. Alex’s throat tightened. He’s so  _ cute.  _ Sometimes it's easy to forget Carl’s the same age as him, with all his scary murder vibes. To be fair, even the cute happy face still gives off the vibe that he's expecting a catch to Alex’s offer, but the awe just  _ slightly _ overpowers the distrust. 

Ron snagged the book before Carl could give it back to Alex. Alex didn’t mind; Carl was looking at Ron with slight annoyance, and Alex remembered that  _ that’s  _ also a very,  _ very  _ cute look on him.  _ Fuck hormones.  _ Alex had been happy to die alone, dammit. Ron flipped through the pages, his eyes narrowed. “Alex? Why is it in Russian?”

Alex stared at him like he’s an idiot. “Because that's how it's written?” Antagonizing peers is an art he hasn't practiced in a while, but slipping into it again felt good. This all feels  _ good.  _ Friendly ribbing and cute boys and playing innocent to tease people who may not be  _ friends _ but are the closest things he has to them right now. It's easy to stumble and fall into  _ not  _ good, but for now... It's good. Maybe a little too good. There's only a matter of time before this all goes wrong again. Alex desperately tried to bury the anxiety that began to set in, and, for a second, succeeded.

“You’d… let me borrow a book?” Carl looked more confused than anything, with his eyebrows scrunched up a bit, but there were still remnants of that earlier puppy dog expression. That beautiful, open, skeptical puppy dog expression.

Oh, God.  _ God.  _ Yes.  _ I’d let you have anything if you look at me like that again.  _ “S-sure,” he stammered out instead, a panicked smile spreading across his face. “Yeah. Don’t worry. The rest are in English.” His eyes narrowed then, his expression shifting from confusion to suspicion, and Alex wondered if he was too young to have heart problems or if it’s because of that boy.  _ Probably both.  _ Alex blinked hard and stared at his bandaged leg.  _ Stop having feelings about a boy you just met. He might kill you. For all you know, his people “accepting” you yesterday might have been them agreeing that the security in Alexandria is a joke. For all you know, they could have just been scoping out the enemy, and they think of you as an easy obstacle. How hard is it to shoot you dead? It's like taking a lame horse out back. _

Then Mikey, who had taken the book from Ron to look at for himself, slid it back into Alex’s lap. He clutched the book as if it would support him and wondered if it would completely ruin this newfound  _ something _ —friendship? Or just toleration?—with Carl if he puked right here.  _ Yes. It would.  _ It would probably also ruin the flimsy friendship he'd built with the other two, too. “You going to the party tonight?”

It took him a moment to realize he was talking to him. “Oh,” Alex muttered. “Yeah.” Carl smiled at him and Alex smiled back, leaving Ron and Mikey to stare in surprise. 

“You're going to the party?” Ron asked.

“ _ You? _ ” Mikey added.

_ Thanks for the vote of confidence _ . “The Millers would probably kill me if I didn't. And Deanna wants me to, you know. Acclimate.”

“Talk more,” Mikey translated.  Alex nodded once. “You're not talking enough? I'd say we're making progress.”

Alex smiled at Mikey. That was kind of nice, the way he said that. He really doesn’t like the way this conversation’s been headed, but that was nice. “Thanks.” His eyes dropped back down to his lap and he fiddled with the cover of the book. His smile faded a bit, but he didn't drop it. They're avoiding asking too many difficult questions and, frankly, it feels good. The conversation has almost been  _ easy _ and  _ natural _ , and it's only a matter of time before it slips out of that.

If Alex doesn't leave now, they might run out of things to talk about later at the party. Or someone might bring up something he doesn't want to talk about and it'll be awkward later when he's forced to hang out with them. Either way, the risks are too high for him to stick around here.

Now, if only he knew how to get out of a conversation without making anyone worried or annoyed or uncomfortable.

Alex unclenched his jaw when he realized what he had been doing and shoved his tongue between his top and bottom molars. He bit down gently, trying to think even harder of an escape plan. 

“ _ Well _ ,” Mikey began, standing up. It was a bit surprising and it prompted Alex to look up, only to find Mikey giving him a pointed stare. “This has been fun,” he continued, breaking the stare to smile lazily at Ron. “I gotta get home, though. Dad wanted to talk to me about something. See you all at the party later, yeah?”

He gave Alex another look, and it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize what the look was for.  _ Oh.  _ He's giving him an out.

He tried to convey the sudden wave of gratitude that nearly knocked him over with a single nod at Mikey. It probably worked—he smiled and turned away, waving at the muttered goodbyes of his friends as he trotted off the porch. Not letting the opportunity Mikey had given him slip through his fingers, Alex rose to his feet as well. “I'll see you later,” he told the remaining two boys. Ron peered up at him curiously, but Carl was looking away at something on the street that caught his eye. “I- um, I should probably get home too. I need to get a shower a-and… eat something. For lunch.” He bit the inside of his cheek. Mikey made this look so much easier. “Well, bye,” tumbled out of his mouth before he turned on his heel and hastily stepped down the stairs, his face burning in embarrassment. 

It could've gone better. It could've gone worse. Hopefully it won't be worse tonight at the party. Hopefully the nerves won't consume him before then. 

Clenching his fist and ignoring the newfound pain in his head, Alex went home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its 2 am. i have a 9 am in the morning. I've been trying to sleep for over 3 hours. Help me. It was 1 am when I was almost asleep and suddenly sum41's "in too deep" popped in my head. it's 16 years old wh y the fu c k
> 
> anyway i hope you guys enjoy this chapter ahaha I haven't looked at it in weeks. I just. Quickly read through. Added some stuff. I was going to include the party and remove a lot of the stuff in this one but did i mention it's 2 am? I'm so tired honestly my judgement is not all there p l e a s e forgive me in the morning when I should regret it but will be too tired to  
> Also  
> watch me shamelessly advertise metro 2033. I'm so. Excited. We bought it after being a fan of the video game for so many years. I'm reading it soon. After I stop reading manga for 2 seconds I mean. But that's .ot happening for at least another month probably 
> 
> Anyway this chapter is total trash I hope you enjoyed it. Be the william rathje of this website and analyze my garbage please. Enjoy. It's. Okay? Maybe? Idk. I undermine my work 24/7 so 
> 
> Did i mention I'm injured lmao writing is a nightmare sometimes l m a o   
> Also school has not been Kicking my Ass necessarily but this past week has because I had 2 written tests so they were f u n  
> (Fun classes tho. hey guys believe it or not archaeology is pretty cool. Cultural anthropology is better though. I'm in love)
> 
> Anyway hope you're all doing great!! Thanks for reading!! Comments are appreciated always!! I love. Talking tbh
> 
> And I this chapter took 19 years to release but the next one may take longer? Maybe? Depending? Releasing this is probably going to fuel me a bit and I can probably wing it but I still lack Internet at this point so i can't rewatch any episodes to know what the heck happens next in the timeline


	5. Chapter 5

He was dressed nicely.

As nicely as he could be, at least. The white button-up he acquired was a size or two too big and hung loosely on his frame despite being tucked in. He’d been on the verge of starvation before he was tied up in that basement, and though he’s healing, a month isn’t enough to make him properly fill out clothes his own size—let alone clothes that are too big to begin with. The pants he wore fit better, at least. That was surprising, but made him happy. It made him feel good.

The party was going exactly as expected. He was forced to bring his cane if only to avoid everyone asking why he didn't, and even though he'd arrived seven minutes ago he still hasn't made his way over to his friends.

_ Friends.  _ He really needs to think up a different word than that. Maybe “peers.” “Colleagues” just sounds too professional. “Peers” is true enough, at least, even though it doesn't completely encompass what they are.  _ Does it matter?  _

No. No, it really,  _ really  _ doesn’t matter all that much what he calls them. What matters is he needs to—he’s  _ expected  _ to—be around them tonight, but that’s hard to do when he is actively avoiding being spotted by them. Alex bit his tongue. What if they don’t want him to hang out with them? Ron and Carl and Mikey seemed perfectly fine hanging out together earlier, and things only got awkward once Alex showed up. Well, it wasn't  _ too  _ bad, but… still. What if he’s not actually wanted around them? From his vantage point, they seem pretty okay. They’re laughing, and talking, and enjoying themselves, and what if his presence spirals them into uncomfortable silence? If that happens, then he’ll  _ know  _ he doesn’t  _ actually  _ fit well with them (just like he doesn’t fit well in this damned shirt, which was still grating his nerves). He’d rather not know that. It can end well, of course, but if it ends bad…

He stuck close to the wall and away from the crowd, perfectly out of his element, nursing a glass of water only because it gave him something to do. Every time some well-meaning person looked prepared to approach him, he took a drink and avoided eye contact until they skulked away. The only people to successfully get him to speak were Deanna, who expressed her delight that he’d decided to come, and Natalie Miller, who he’d arrived with. And Rick, who he was actually pleased to talk to. 

“Alex.” He greeted him with a smile that he probably didn't mean to be intimidating. Alex didn't mind; he read the kindness behind it. 

“Hello, sir.”

“I didn't expect to see you here,” he admitted. Alex nodded slowly, not really sure what to say. “How are you holding up?”

Alex should probably be asking that question. After all, he had a month to acclimate. Rick just got here the other day. Either way… “I'm doing alright. How are you and your people?”  _ Polite _ . It's good to stay polite to your local sheriff.

Rick’s smile was a bit forced. That told Alex more than his rehearsed, “We’re doing fine,” did. Alex idly wondered who's having a hard time acclimating, but the answer’s pretty obvious. Daryl isn't even here. “Judith likes that jar you made her.”

And, suddenly, Alex’s grin was genuine and the bubble of warmth inside of him was joyous. “Really?” He practically squeaked. Rick looked amused. 

“Yeah.” And then he made an offer that, if he really knew Alex, he probably shouldn't have made: “You can come visit her whenever you'd like.”

Oh, what a mistake. Doesn't he know that an offer like that will ensure that Alex  _ never leaves?  _ “Yeah,” Alex breathed, doing his best to suppress his grin. His best usually isn't good enough. Is it weird to want to be a father at fifteen? “I will. Thank you, sir.” 

Rick’s smile was all politeness, but Alex knew he probably wasn't making that offer to everyone. Maybe he  _ did _ win Judith’s affection with that gift.  _ Cool.  _ “Are you going to talk to Carl?”

Oh god  _ hell no.  _ Or yes. Honestly, Alex wasn't sure what he wanted.  _ Eventually.  _ But… wait. If he visits Judith will he also run into Carl since they live in the same house? God, that's bad for his heart. Rick probably saw the pink in his cheeks, and he's probably already figured it out since he's a cop and they've got to be  _ perceptive,  _ and… oh, hell. 

Rick didn't comment on it. “They're over there if you are.”

“Oh!” Alex said, acting like he didn't already know exactly where they were. “I'll head over there soon. Thank you.”

“No problem. Have fun, Alex.”

“I'll try. Oh, and, uh.” Alex shot Rick a quick, sly grin. “You clean up well, Sheriff Grimes.” If it's good to stay polite to your local sheriff, it's probably not good to  _ flirt _ with him. Especially if he's the father of the boy you have a crush on.

Alex ducked out of there quickly, but his amusement quickly dissipated when he realized he actually had nowhere to go.

Aaron and Eric weren’t there. He wouldn’t have minded talking to them, and they wouldn’t mind him talking, either. But Alex knows that people here can be pretty shitty about their relationship so he doesn’t really blame them for not coming, even if it’s still a bummer.  _ He  _ wouldn’t be weird about it. He has no right to be weird about it. He considered slipping out of the party and just going to their place to hide away from this crowd, but he already told the others he’d be coming here, and he doesn’t want to alienate  _ them  _ by not meeting up.

Even if it is utterly  _ terrifying. _

He waited until the awkwardness of lingering there outweighed the fear of joining the other teenagers before he finally began to migrate toward them. He did so slowly, the hand that was gripping the cup shaking a bit, and he tried to approach them like he was just  _ casually  _ headed that way and not  _ actually  _ joining them.  _ Because that makes a difference? _

Then the hilarity of the situation hit him hard and he came to a halt. Leaning his shoulder against the wall on his right, Alex thoughtfully traced the back of his teeth with his tongue.

Is he  _ really  _ this scared? Over something so  _ simple? _

He let his eyes wander over the other guests. They were socializing, for the most part, as expected of people at a party. They’d also made an attempt to look nice, just like he had, and some of the adults were drinking what he knew was rare for their situation but perfectly suitable for the occasion. The house was nice and clean, as always, the piano was classy, and the din of voices and laughter was a bit overwhelming but also, strangely, familiar. 

It’s a  _ party.  _ It’s a neighborhood party. People dress nice and show up and eat and drink and socialize as if there aren’t people outside these walls dying for a place as comfortable and welcome as this. As if there aren’t people being eaten by monsters both dead and living. As if they aren’t exclusive and hand-picked and, frankly, just  _ lucky  _ to be in the right place at the right time. As if there aren’t families being torn apart and people being torn apart and children being orphaned—or even forced to kill their own parents. As if there isn’t someone out there, right now, with a gun pressed to their temple because their luck has run out, they’re bleeding from their bite, and they’d rather die now by their own hand than be the cause of anyone else’s destruction. 

He’s here, he’s at a party, he’s debating  _ socializing _ in a crisp, white, oversized, and annoying button-up. He’s drinking water to avoid conversing with people who, if not for these walls, may not survive the night. Everyone is dressed nice (just like he is) in a room that is clean (as always) with a piano that is classy (as ever). Everyone is posturing as if there’s a reason to brag about anything—as if anyone’s reason to brag has any real  _ value _ here. 

An ugly, ugly thought crossed his mind. It’s a welcome party, but  _ is it?  _ They dragged these people in who have spent the last few years surviving outside. They’ve seen horrors firsthand that some of these people can’t imagine. They’ve experienced true fear, true grief, true pain—and yet they’re dressed up in a nice outfit (or a sheriff’s uniform), paraded around, and socialized with. Is it easy to fall into this for them? It wasn’t easy for Alex, but he’d never had this life to begin with. Is it for the benefit of the new group, to show them that the community welcomes them and to give them the opportunity to meet their neighbors? Or is it for the benefit of the community?

Is this new group an example? A show? Animals at the fair brought along to be gawked at? Alex feels like that’s what he is to these people—he’s an example of what’s outside, and a reason for them to stay.  _ Why would we ever live out there when there’s so much horror? We’re safe inside these walls. No cannibals. No murder. No excess death. No biters. No despair. No reason to learn to fight.  _

Alex clenched his teeth through a labored swallow. This is all so ridiculous _.  _ Is this really moving on, or is it ignoring what’s out there? How safe is this? 

There’s no doubt Rick’s group has already come to this conclusion—they seem like a bright bunch, after all—but he’s not really sure what they can even do about that. Are they just going to move on after they realize how weak everyone is? That (probably) irrational thought from this morning sprung again to the forefront of Alex’s mind:  _ It’s like taking a lame horse out back. _ And if he’s the lame horse, that’s fine, but where does that leave the rest of this community? Alex would like to say he doesn’t care about them—after all, he’s spent the past month avoiding that—but he’s also spent the  _ past month _ here. No matter how hard he tried to keep himself from caring, it twists his stomach to imagine what can happen to these defenseless people.

This time, he drank his water to settle the fear clawing at his chest. It didn’t really help, but if anyone was looking his way, it might have helped his expression look a bit more neutral. 

Really, after a thought process like that, talking to a few teenagers should be the  _ last  _ of his worries.  _ Why stress out about saying the wrong thing tonight if we can all be torn to shreds tomorrow? _ There’s really no point in being this scared, and yet…

_ And yet. _

This is  _ ridiculous.  _ How can social interaction terrify him more than impending death? He was half hoping thinking about bad stuff would make this a lot easier. It probably would have, if the new kid wasn’t cute. 

_ Damn it.  _

And  _ confusing.  _ Last night he was distant, and this morning he was inclusive. If Alex had a better idea about how Carl feels about him then this wouldn’t be so nerve-wracking. Does he actually hate him, but he’s nice when he’s around the other kids? Or does he like him, but he’s cold when he’s around his family? Or is he completely indifferent toward him, but nice with the kids and mean with his group?

Damn it. 

The only way to figure that out is to talk to him alone, and since he’s never going to do that,  _ thank you, _ it’ll have to stay a mystery. _ Oh well.  _ Movies and books make this look so  _ easy.  _

Throwing the rest of his drink back like it was liquid courage and not just  _ water _ , Alex finally finished heading their way. He’s waited long enough. Might as well rip the band-aid off now. 

He managed to muster a friendly, if not awkward, smile. Ron spotted him first and greeted him with a grin. Following his gaze, the other two smiled too. It’s a nice reception, at least, even though Alex was sure he looked terrified. “You’re here!” Mikey laughed, either ignoring or not seeing Alex’s panicked eyes. He’s kind of grateful for that. He’s been grateful for Mikey a lot today. He’s probably still trying to make up for pressing him about his past the other day. 

Alex should have laughed and said hello, but the first words out of his mouth were, “No Enid?” Ron eyed him curiously, which would probably mean trouble if he starts to think Alex is trying to get at his girlfriend. He’s really, really not. It would just be nice to have someone quieter than he is here so he doesn’t feel as pressured. Plus, he hasn’t seen her since they left the woods this morning, and he’d like to thank her again, even though it would probably only annoy her. But Ron doesn’t know this, and asking after his girlfriend is probably digging his grave, so Alex tried to save himself by saying, “The two of you are usually together.”

It worked. Probably. Ron’s look eased into something both apologetic and smug, which is—well. Alex didn’t think a look like that existed. “She’s not a fan of big parties.”

“I can relate,” Alex admitted, smile self-deprecating. Carl looked away, Ron’s smile looked forced, and Mikey looked a bit sorry.  _ Damn it.  _ This was what he was trying to avoid.  _ Why does he always screw up so quickly?  _ He hid his hands behind his back and dug his fingernails into his wrist. He’s the only one who can save this now. So even though the primary reason he doesn’t like parties is because of the crowds and the pretending, Alex said, “The last time I went to a party the cops showed up.”

_ That _ piqued their interest. Carl gaped at him incredulously, and Ron and Mikey began to erupt into fits of laughter. “What kind of parties did you  _ go _ to?” Carl asked.

“How old were you?” Ron wheezed. “Like, eleven?”

“And a half,” Alex countered a bit too defensively. That only made Ron’s grin widen. “It wasn’t too long before, you know. And it was a high school party”

“How’s an eleven—” Alex shot Mikey a look, “— _ and a half _ year old get into a high school party?”

“It was at my friend Johnny’s house. His parents were away for a couple days, and his older brother Ricky had the party. Johnny promised not to tell their parents as long as I was allowed to stay the night. He’s cunning like that.” Alex grinned. He misses him.

Mikey gaped. “Your parents let you?”

“We’d been friends since we were five. Mom was used to me going over there, and she didn’t know his parents were gone.”

“So what happened?” Ron asked. Despite his amused tone, his eyes were glistening with interest. None of them would ever be able to experience anything like a wild high school party, and no matter how much they tried to play it off, they were all enraptured. “Why’d the police show up?”

“It wasn’t too big of a deal,” Alex admitted sheepishly. “At first, I mean. It was just a noise complaint. But everyone was drinking, so about half the party tried to beat it on foot as soon as they saw the police car roll up.” He smiled wistfully. “It was chaos. Johnny’s room overlooked the back, so we just sat by the window watching a horde of teenagers hop the fence. We thought it was going to collapse,” he added, breathing out a laugh. “I was so worried. It didn’t, though. I think Johnny was disappointed. A lot of kids were busted, and Johnny ended up coming home with me after the police called his parents. They were so  _ pissed. _ Ricky wasn’t let off the hook for two months. They were being  _ lenient. _ ”

“You guys didn’t get in trouble?” Mikey asked.

Alex laughed. This is the most he’s talked in ages. It feels good. People should always just ask him about this stuff. These memories sit well on his tongue. “It wasn’t that exciting for us. We were locked up in Johnny’s room for most the night and only snuck down to steal snacks. We watched from his window, but.” Alex shrugged. “When the police found us, we were just playing slapjack. Ricky was in deep shit when his parents heard we were both in the house.” 

“Wow,” Mikey breathed. “I thought that kind of stuff just happened in movies.”

Alex smiled politely. “Not always.”

“How popular were you and Johnny when everyone heard you were at a high school party?” Ron asked, smirking.

Alex kept his tone light. “Everyone knew our names.” That was a nice, clean answer. No, they weren’t very popular. In fact, they quickly became social outcasts, but it wasn’t  _ because  _ of the party, but because of what happened at the party. Naturally, he’s not going to tell these boys how the door wasn’t locked at first, and they only locked it after one of Ricky’s drunk classmates barged in while he was trying to find the bathroom. He’s not going to mention that he found them perched cross-legged on the end of Johnny’s bed, holding shaky hands, tentatively and awkwardly pressing their lips together—not because they liked each other like that, but because they both admitted to liking boys, they trusted each other more than anyone else, and they wanted to see what kissing felt like. After the intruder left the room, Johnny silently locked the door, pulled a deck of cards out of his nightstand drawer, and started dealing the deck. They played games for the rest of the night and had laughed and joked enough that they’d almost forgotten about the drunk teenager—but word spreads fast, and after he’d told a couple people about walking in on “Ricky Harris’s gay little brother,” it really didn’t take that long for it to spread to everyone’s little siblings in middle school. Johnny always saw himself as Alex’s protector, and this situation was no different; he was strong for the both of them and stood up to everyone with a snide comment. No matter how much he pretended, Alex knew it hurt Johnny, but he didn’t admit it. If he had more time with him, he probably could have convinced him to talk about it. 

Alex doesn’t know what became of him, but he hopes the Harris family all made it.

Mikey was laughing. “I can’t even  _ imagine. _ ” Alex blinked, momentarily confused.  _ Right. The party. _

“It was pretty crazy,” Alex agreed. “And now I avoid parties.”

“Don’t blame you,” Mikey grinned.

Ron cleared his throat, all signs of mirth gone. “So,  _ Alex. _ ” Alex froze. Nothing good ever starts by saying his name.

“Um… y-yes?”

“We were just talking to Carl.”

“Oh… kay?” He’s really dragging this out. Alex could hear his own heartbeat.  _ Terrifying. _

“We asked him what his favorite comic is.” Ron wet his lips. “What’s yours?” 

_ Clearly this is a serious conversation _ . Alex fought the urge to laugh at his own meaningless panic. But still, this can be a dangerous topic, especially since he’s not exactly armed with a lot of knowledge here and they  _ are _ . He’s going to have to choose his words carefully to avoid any social pitfalls. 

“Oh, um… ah.” 

_ Smooth, Alex. _

“Wait, do you even read comics?”

Alex colored and avoided looking at them. The ceiling really wasn’t all that interesting, but for now, he can pretend it is. He was, for the first time tonight, thankful that the shirt was too big. The sleeves were too long, and they covered up half his hands, and he felt a bit like he was drowning in it. It was comforting.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Ron eased, tone calm. Alex risked a glance at him. He looked a little panicked, too. Idly, Alex wondered again why he has such a penchant for making people treat him like a spooked horse. 

“I-I just, um. Haven’t read a lot.” So much for his ability to hold a smooth conversation without stuttering.  _ Pathetic.  _ “That was more my sister’s thing. I read mostly books. Read some, though.”

“What did you read?” Carl was the one to speak this time. His voice was level and just as reassuring as Ron’s, but Alex wasn’t too sure whether this was good or not, because now he almost feels like Carl  _ does  _ care, and that’s certainly not helping his breathing.  _ You’re so gone.  _ How unhealthy is it to become immediately infatuated with someone you met a couple days ago?  _ Probably very.  _

“Um…  _ Watchmen.  _ That was the only one I really read. In its entirety.” Yes, definitely not healthy. Alex kept his eyes on the floor to pretend the burning in his cheeks wasn’t there. He’s lucky he was shy around Ron and Mikey to begin with, or else they might have managed to put it together already. He feels like he’s being so  _ obvious. _

Mikey whined. “How is your life so  _ cool?  _ High school parties and  _ Watchmen?  _ I was never allowed to read that.”

“Oh… th-thank you?” Alex laughed unsurely. “It was my sister’s copy. I’ll see if she’ll let you borrow it next time I see her.”

And there it was. He hadn’t meant to say it, but he did. It was strange, because he’d never really said it out loud before without shrouding it with justification. For the first time, he said it with confidence, because he can’t let himself consider the alternative anymore. She’s not still alive because she’s a better survivor than him. She’s still alive because she  _ is.  _ Not because he wouldn’t be able to handle it if she wasn’t, but because she  _ is  _ alive. The stronger he says it, the easier it is to believe himself, right?

If the world outside these walls is really filled with horrors, he’s going to have to believe that his family has found a pocket of relief like he had. Maybe Johnny and his family are alive, too, somewhere. Maybe they’re all okay.

They’re probably not. He knows that. The odds are against them. But with what he’s been through, can anyone really blame him for holding out  _ some  _ hope?

The other boys stared at him silently. Carl opened his mouth to say something but let it close again. Ron was stock-still. After a long moment of silence, Mikey nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he agreed, offering a hesitant smile. “I’d appreciate that.”

Huh. Okay, maybe this party isn't  _ that  _ bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all I'm back  
> This chapter did not go in the direction I expected but welp, here it is!  
> A shoutout to everyone who leaves a comment or kudos-- and especially to those last few. I didn't thank you personally, but your comments hit me right at a crucial time. I wouldn't have churned this out if you didn't leave those when you did.   
> And an extra special thanks to Itabane for hearing me out and getting me excited about this again! Thank you for your continued support <3


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